


the smallest kingdom

by demiromcom (mayerwien)



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, M/M, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/pseuds/demiromcom
Summary: Evacuation, some of the older children are saying as they sit in the schoolyard eating slices of bread, is what’s on those posters that went up all over London seemingly overnight. Tommy can’t read too well, but he’s fairly sure he’s guessed what the picture of the soldier wagging his finger at the little boy in a helmet means.War’s for soldiers to fight, not for children. Tommy thinks that’s stupid; any child would have to be daft to want to fight in a war. It’s not until all the boys and girls in the schoolyard are rounded up and taken to the train station, however, that Tommy finally understands.Evacuation means going away.(AU in which nine-year-olds Tommy and Alex are evacuated from their London orphanages to a seaside town, Farrier and Collins are the kind townsfolk who take them in, and—as the war rages on and the battle of Dunkirk draws nearer—they find home and family in each other.)---Circa 2017. THIS WORK IS INCOMPLETE.
Relationships: Alex & Tommy (Dunkirk), Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk)
Kudos: 3
Collections: Good Intentions: Abandoned and Unfinished WIPs





	the smallest kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> My big emotional Dunkirk middle grade novel AU.

_september-october 1939_

Tommy is nine years old when he first learns the word _evacuation,_ one fall morning in 1939. _Evacuation_ is what the nuns are saying is happening, as all seventeen boys in the orphanage are hurriedly washed and dressed and marched across the cobblestones to the schoolhouse. Just yesterday, they were all sitting in the dining hall listening to the Prime Minister announce on the radio that Britain was at war with Germany, and not long after that the first air raid siren went off. Only a test siren, Sister Margaret said, but she crossed herself all the same.

 _Evacuation,_ some of the older children are saying as they sit in the schoolyard eating slices of bread, is what’s on those posters that went up all over London seemingly overnight. Tommy can’t read too well, but he’s fairly sure he’s guessed what the picture of the soldier wagging his finger at the little boy in a helmet means. War’s for soldiers to fight, not for children. Tommy thinks that’s stupid; any child would have to be daft to _want_ to fight in a war. It’s not until all the boys and girls in the schoolyard are rounded up and taken to the train station, however, that Tommy finally understands.

 _Evacuation_ means going away.

Before Tommy can ask any questions— _where are we going, why aren’t the sisters going with us, when are we coming back_ —he’s ushered onto the train by a policeman, and elbowed and jostled by the other children until he’s squashed into a seat by the window. Pressing his nose to the glass, he searches for Sister Margaret on the platform, but she’s already gone, swallowed by the crowd.

The train car is hot, and packed with children of every shape and size; some clean, some smudgy, and some downright grubby, all from different places now mixed in together. Tommy can’t see any of the other boys from the orphanage—not that any of him are his friends, exactly, but he would’ve liked a familiar face. Some of the children seem to think the whole thing is a game, and are roughhousing and making gun sounds. Many others are crying. One very little girl is shrieking at the top of her lungs. “We are to be _brave_ young men and _proper_ young women,” the teacher from the schoolhouse says, her voice high and desperate as she struggles to regain order. “Everyone must do their part, children, and this is ours. It’s not for ever, just until it’s safe to go back, so chins up!”

In the chaos, Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of something pleasant. He tries to enjoy the idea that he’s riding on a train for the first time, but he feels slightly sick to his stomach, so that doesn’t work. He tries to think instead about the story Sister Margaret started reading to them just a few nights ago, the one about the children who learned how to fly. How did it begin? He can’t remember.

The whistle blows and the train begins to pull out of the station, and the other children stick their heads out of the open windows so they can wave goodbye to their mothers and fathers. Tommy has no one to wave goodbye to, so instead, he slips his hand into his pocket and touches his father’s watch. His aunt gave it to him, before she died and he was taken to the orphanage. Pulling the watch out, he stares down at the glass face, watching the smallest hand draw its steady circle as it counts one minute. Tommy holds the cool, scuffed metal to his cheek, then pulls his knees to his chest and turns sideways so he’s curled up against the back of the seat. The familiar ticking sound is a comfort, as the train finally leaves the station and starts to chug out of the city, farther and farther from the only life he’s ever known.

At some point Tommy must fall asleep, because when he opens his eyes again and looks out the window, they’re pulling into a new station, and he’s greeted by green. There’s so much green, and other colors he didn’t think existed in nature. Even the sky is a new shade of blue, like it’s been freshly washed. So this is the countryside, he thinks in awe—but before he can even take it in, the stationmaster’s voice is ringing out, the doors are opening, and the children are all herded off the train again.

They’re taken into another building, to a room with bare gray walls, and told to line up in the middle. “Smile, dears,” says the billeting officer, a broad woman in a starched blue uniform. _Billeting,_ Tommy thinks, another new word—as he clutches the worn muslin sack that holds all his clothes in his sweaty hand and waits. For what, he isn’t quite certain.

It’s a sea of strangers that comes flooding through the door—all adults, cleaner and more sturdy-looking than the people back in London, dressed in cotton and wool in simple colors. They approach the children as though hesitant, and begin walking up and down the line, murmuring to each other. One lady in a brown felt hat leans in to squint at Tommy, then moves on. It takes him a minute to realize what’s happening—that these people are choosing the children they like the look of, to bring home with them.

Tommy wants to tell them that he might look small and weak for his age but he’s a hard worker, that he’s good at cooking eggs and shining shoes and hanging up socks to dry, that he hasn’t quite got the hang of reading and writing yet but he can learn. But for some reason he can’t seem to open his mouth—and besides, no one seems interested in listening, only looking. “I’ll take this one,” the people say, after their eyes have roamed the children up and down and they’ve pulled one girl or boy out of the line. _I’ll take this one,_ like they’re picking out a hat, or a fish in the market. But the people’s eyes slide right past Tommy, as though they’re determined not to see him, or as though he’s completely invisible.

The line dwindles.

Tommy’s gaze wanders down to the end of the line, and that’s where he sees the boy. He’s not one of the boys from Tommy’s orphanage—he looks thinner, almost starved; his hair is a mess of matted curls, and there are gray smudges on his cheeks. He has a stubborn, defiant look on his face on top of everything, and looking at him Tommy knows, somehow, that no one will choose him either. He immediately feels a sense of kinship with this boy, likes the anger he sees burning quietly inside him. Then the other boy notices Tommy staring, and immediately glowers. Tommy glances away quickly.

An hour passes. The residents of the town, with their new children in tow, trickle steadily out—until the only children left are Tommy and the other boy. Snorting, the boy stuffs his hands into his pockets and storms over to one of the benches, kicking viciously at a crumpled piece of paper that skitters across the floor. “Don’t you worry,” the billeting officer says, lowering her clipboard and addressing Tommy. “I’ll take you into town; I’m sure we’ll find placement for you.”

Tommy ignores her, in favor of working out a plan in his head. He can stay at the train station; he’ll sleep on one of the benches and sweep and scrub and do errands for them, until he’s earned enough money to buy a train ticket back to London. He’ll go back to the orphanage, and—

Just then, the door opens again, and a tall man in a dark jumper and a white scarf comes in. He looks around the near-empty room, spots Tommy, and slowly walks over, his boots going _clump-clump-clump_ on the floor. The man has a grave, guarded face and a hooded brow, but he does something Tommy didn’t see any of the other adults do earlier; he kneels down so his face is level with Tommy’s.

“What’s your name, son?” the man asks. His voice is quiet, and his eyes are a light blue-green that reminds Tommy of the sky he saw out the train window.

Tommy thinks about what the teacher on the train said, that he has to be a man now, and he almost says _Thomas_. But his whole first name feels wrong in his mouth even before he can say it, like a cold marble coughed up onto his tongue—so he answers honestly instead, his voice almost strange to his own ears after having been quiet for so long. “Tommy. Tommy Brooks. Sir,” he adds hurriedly.

“Tommy.” The man takes a breath and appears to consider his next words carefully. “I know this must all be—very strange to you. But I promise we’ll do our best to make you safe and comfortable, while you’re here.” He straightens up and starts to turn to leave. “Well, then. Shall we be off?”

“Wait.” Tommy grabs the man’s sleeve and jerks his head towards the other boy, who is still sitting on the bench. “He’s my friend. I won’t go without him.”

“Your friend, eh?” The man squints at him, one hand on his hip. “What’s his name?”

Tommy opens his mouth, then shakes his head.

The man seems to understand. He cups his other hand around his mouth and calls across the room. “Lad,” he shouts. “Your friend here says you’re coming with us?”

The boy perks up in surprise, hesitates, then darts over. He has blue-green eyes, too, but they’re more wary. The man asks his name. “Alex,” the boy says, his voice a soft, scratchy sound. He exchanges a look with Tommy, relaxing a little, and offers him something that is almost a smile.

The billeting officer raises her eyebrows as the three of them approach her table. “I’ll be honest, Mr. Farrier, I wasn’t expecting you to come,” she says. “How are you going to manage?”

“Oh, Rory will take care of them while I’m at work,” the man replies, putting one hand on each of Tommy and Alex’s shoulders.

Strangely, the officer’s expression seems to turn cold for a second, but she recovers quickly. “Of course,” she says, writing something down on her clipboard. “I’ll be sending their paperwork along. There’s to be an allowance, as well. Right, boys, be good; I’ll be checking in on all of you soon.”

The man leads them outside to an automobile and opens the door for them. The back seat, not the front, but neither of them minds. “Sorry, don’t think I mentioned it earlier,” the man says, as he starts up the car and they trundle away from the station. “James Farrier. Don’t bother with ‘Mister,’ but if ‘James’ makes you uncomfortable, you can just call me Farrier.”

“A farrier’s for horses,” Tommy blurts out, and then blushes.

Farrier laughs. “That’s right,” he says. “Ironic, though, as I’m not a horse man at all. I much prefer a different sort of transportation.”

“What sort?” Alex asks.

Farrier grins then. “You’ll see.”

The town _.

The house is

By far the most interesting thing about it, however, is that there’s a place for planes _right across the house._ “The airfield,” Farrier says, pointing as they round the _. “That’s where I work. I was lucky, they let me be stationed right here in my hometown.”

“You’re a _pilot?”_ Alex asks incredulously, eyes shining.

“Got it in one.” Farrier shifts the gear. “I fly Spitfires. I have to sleep in the barracks most nights, but some weekends they let us go home, and all I have to do is cross the lane.”

“Are you going to kill Germans?” Alex leans forward with his elbows on the front seat headrest.

“Ah. That’s a tricky one.” Farrier reaches back and pushes gently down on Alex’s shoulder so he’ll sit. “Well, technically, yes, but…I try not to think about it like that. Can’t afford to, you see.”

They park in the lane in front of the house, and as they’re getting out of the car, a man comes out the front door. He’s drying his hands on a kitchen towel, and he limps slightly as he approaches the gate; he has fair hair and a kind, open face. _“Two_ boys?” he says, in a lilting Scottish accent. “My word, this is a surprise.”

 _They don’t want me,_ Tommy thinks wildly, . But right away the blond man smiles and says, “Not to worry. We’ve got a spare cot somewhere, I’ve just got to dig it up.”

“This is Collins,” Farrier says, as he latches the gate behind them. “He’ll be taking care of you, since I won’t be at the house as often.”

“Farrier owns the house, you see, and I eat all his food and fill up his spare room with my dirty laundry,” Collins says, sounding amused.

“Oh, you do more than that.” Farrier sounds amused too.

The two men lead them inside, and Tommy is bewildered, because he didn’t think a house could ever look so nice. It’s not posh, but everything is neat and tidy; the wallpaper is a soft green. There are lots of books, too, _. Collins shows Tommy and Alex their room, a room for just the two of them to sleep in, not the dormitory like they had back at the orphanage, or the single

Although Farrier said he’s not a horse man, he _does_ have a horse, in a stall in the back yard—a pony, Collins corrects. She’s old, but her coat is a pretty reddish color that he calls _sorrel_. “We bought her off the butcher last year, to save her from becoming cat’s meat,” Collins explains, twining his fingers fondly through her mane. “She’s named Spitfire too, after the planes.”

“I just call her Spit, though, because that’s what she does.” Farrier shakes his head. “Watch your eyes around her, boys. She’s had a long time to perfect her aim.” Alex grins at that.

They _, then Farrier says he has to be getting back to the airfield. As he’s leaving, Farrier waves goodbye to Tommy and Alex, and murmurs “I’ll come round when I can,” to Collins, touching his shoulder. It seems to Tommy that something passes between the two men just then; something he’s seen before, in other people, but he can’t quite figure out what.

“Are you and Farrier brothers?” he asks Collins later, at supper.

For a moment Collins looks taken aback; then he laughs. “No, lad, not brothers. Farrier’s my oldest friend. We were at school together.”

“It’s a good and powerful thing, to have a friend.” “Sometimes they can be like an anchor for you, or you for them. The whole world could be burning down, and yet you would feel it’s not quite so bad, with a friend.”

looks at Alex, who fell upon the food as soon as he sat down, and who is at the moment draining his soup bowl. Alex _ smiles back.

Supper is thick slices of brown bread, and a creamy soup made with vegetables. Earlier, Collins boiled water for them and poured it into the large white tub in the bathroom, so they could both wash up; Alex protested, but he’s clean all over and his hair is in loose, damp curls now.

Tommy eats sparingly at first, not sure how much he’s allowed—but

Collins sets a mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of him. Staring down at it, Tommy suddenly feels overcome, and without quite knowing why or how, he starts to cry.

“Dear boy.” Collins immediately gets out of his own chair and crouches down in front of Tommy, laying one hand on his shoulder and the other on his knee. “_?” Tommy just hiccups and shakes his head, the tears still coursing silently down his cheeks.

Collins seems to understand. “It’s been a long day. You must be worn out.”

to his room. The sheets are cool

[Tommy was a shoeshine boy, then his aunt died so they put him in an orphanage]

“I’m _not_ an orphan,” he says angrily. “My mum’s a nurse, and my dad’s a soldier off fighting in France.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says, abashed. “I didn’t know.”

Alex appears to soften.

winds his father’s watch and slips it underneath his pillow. As long as he can hear it ticking, it will be all right.

When Tommy wakes the next morning, the window is glowing with sunlight, Alex is gone from the other bed, and a pleasant smell is wafting up from downstairs.

SCONES and milk

They didn’t starve them, back at the orphanage, but with seventeen mouths to feed, they didn’t get anything like this.

[TRUST COLLINS HE IS A GOOD MAN]

the first time they go into town; Collins hitches Spitfire-the-pony to a trap,

they clip-clop down the main thoroughfare.

Ever since they arrived in this town, Tommy’s noticed smells like he never did in London. The air here is like nothing he’s ever known—laden with what he later comes to identify as the scents of cut grass, and fresh flowers, and the salt from the sea.

greet Collins only when he greets them, but they don’t seem too friendly somehow—reserved

“Some of the people around here, well...” “I keep to myself, and they to their own.”

[Collins hasn’t enlisted because ???? heart condition? and then it’s like he’s a coward for not being able to help; but he does odd jobs where he can]

“I was studying medicine. To be a doctor.”

they see the police station, the grocer’s, the bank, the tuck shop

“And there’s the post office,” Collins says. “You two’ll be getting letters from the city any day now, I’m sure.”

“Oh, my mother won’t have time to write me,” Alex says easily. “She’s a nurse, so she’s always busy. My father, too—“

they see the quay and smell the ocean oooooo?

two older boys. Mr. Dawson waves to Collins, and so do the boys.

“These’ll be the evacuees?” Mr. Dawson says.

“We have some of Edward and Peter’s clothes from when they were younger. I’ll send Peter round with them.”

“That’s very kind of you,”

“That’s Mr. Dawson and his son, and the Mills boy. They’re good people,” Collins says softly.

[tommy thinks about the book again. The boy named Peter who lost his shadow, too, until Wendy sewed it onto him.

Then he took children from London to a magical island, where they were friends with Indians and fought pirates. Tommy thinks living here is rather like that—he’s somewhere anything can happen.]

[routine]

Each family that’s taken in evacuees gets almost a full pound a week from the government, to be used on household expenses—which seems a grand fortune to Tommy and Alex. Apart from the groceries, Collins uses it to buy them new clothes, even though Mr. Dawson and Mrs. Mills already sent them plenty, and new shoes with no holes. Tommy doesn’t like them at first, because they’re stiff, but Collins says, “With all the running around you boys do, they’ll soften up in no time.”

[peter and george give their old bicycles too. “Mine’s got a bit of a wobbly wheel,” Peter says, “but you can learn to manage it all right.”]

Alex sneaks across to the airfield, and comes back almost too breathless with excitement to relay the story. “And he let me sit in the cockfire of the Spitpit, I mean the cockpit of the Spitfire, and—“

After the first two weeks, Tommy gets a letter from Sister Margaret. He knows it’s the same one that’s been copied out to all the boys, but she’s added a postscript down at the bottom just for him—

Collins doesn’t go to church on Sundays. The fear of God having been , Tommy is shocked. “But Sister Margaret said you’ll go to hell if you don’t go to church,”

Collins opens one eye. “You can go,” he says. “We don’t agree with each other, the church and me.” Tommy does, and says a prayer for Collins anyway.

At night they put up the blackout curtains, so German planes flying overhead won’t be able to see the town’s lights and bomb them—and they listen to the radio. “Apart from this, it doesn’t much _feel_ like there’s a war on,” Alex pipes up, wrinkling his nose.

Collins lowers his newspaper slowly. “Oh, lad. Trust me,” he says. “You don’t want to feel like there’s a war on.”

\--

_november-december 1939_

There’s a fence around the airfield now.

Farrier shows Alex the plane, explaining the parts and how they work, and sometimes he lets him sit in the cockpit for five minutes. Always, Tommy chooses to hang back, observing instead.

“There’s no room for cowards in war,” Alex says, scoffing at Tommy for not wanting to try it. “That’s what my dad always tells me.”

“Not everyone who doesn’t fly a plane or fight is a coward. There are small things everyone can do to help us win this war. Besides, there is a world of difference,” Farrier says, as he lifts Alex out of the plane and sets him on his feet, “between a coward and a nine-year-old.”

“Nine and three quarters,” Alex informs him.

“Your evacuee’s something,” one of the other pilots says, slinging his oily rag over his shoulder and grinning.

“Yeah, something insane,” Farrier says, but Tommy doesn’t miss the look of pride that crosses Farrier’s face, or the small twinge of jealousy he feels when he sees it.

He learns how to feed and brush Spitfire-the-pony, and Collins puts Tommy up on her back and shows him how to ride her. It’s Alex’s turn to stay well back; he’ll feed Spitfire, and even muck out her stall when he’s asked, but he won’t ride her.

School started a while back,

[new schedule for the village and the evacuee children]

[Tommy doesn’t like school because it makes him feel stupid, so Collins teaches him to read and write at home]

“There’s no shame in not knowing how,” Collins reassures him. “But Tommy, however did you manage, back in London?”

He shrugs. Sister Vera was teaching him, back at the orphanage, but she was rather old and taught very slowly, so Tommy was only just about able to sound letters out and put them together. Before that, his aunt was always ailing so she was never well enough to teach him, but he didn’t need to know how to read to go out and buy fish or potatoes for stew,

[then Alex complains that Tommy gets to stay home when he doesn’t, so he does too. “I suppose there’s no harm in it, as long as you do your reading and writing and numbers and all that,” Collins sighs.]

instead of going to school Tommy and Alex do useful things like work around the house, deliver stuff in town, and learn things about gardening, animals, idk Life Things

the letters swim before his eyes. He rubs his eyes until they water, scowling. He knows this, he knows he does. He just can’t put them together right.

T-O-M-M-Y B-R-O-O-K-S, and then A-L-E-X, though his hand starts to cramp up halfway through Alex’s last name, L-I-G-H-T-O-L-L-E-R.

“You’ll be writing your own letters back to Sister Margaret soon enough,” Collins praises, lifting his sheet of paper to the light and smiling.

“Why don’t you write letters to your mum?” Tommy asks Alex, who is sat on the kitchen counter, watching him and eating an apple. “You can write.”

“She’s busy at the hospital,” he says easily. “She won’t have time to read my letters. But she knows where I am.”

One afternoon, Tommy asks Collins if he knows the Peter story, and he goes into the other room and comes back with a copy of the exact same book that Sister Margaret had. It seems like a miracle to Tommy, that Collins should know exactly the book he meant and be able to produce it just like that. “Oh, aye, it’s a famous story,” Collins says, as Tommy runs his hand wonderingly over the green cloth cover with the gold lettering on the front. “I’ll read you a bit of it every night, how’s that? Then you boys can take turns reading to me, for practice.”

Tommy does want to get better at reading, but secretly he likes it best when Collins reads. He gives each character a different voice-- and when it’s just the storytelling bits, his voice becomes light and gentle, like it’s full of fairy dust too, so Tommy can float away.

[leaflets/radio? that they have to be on the lookout for German spies]

[this is where they build the bomb shelter] [peter is cool and alex hero worships him a bit, george is snitty but nice]

their Anderson got delivered

Peter Dawson is nothing like Peter Pan. Peter Pan is loud and reckless . Peter Dawson is

“Give us a hand, Lights, will you?”

Alex, looking thrilled to have been singled out,

“The quay is all right, but the beach is off-limits, remember,” Peter says.

“Why?”

“Land mines,” says George, almost breezily. “So if any Germans try to come ashore— _wham!”_ He claps his hands together, like the jaws of the crocodile that was hunting Captain Hook.

Collins teaches them to tie their clothes and things together in a tight bundle. “So if we have to run to the shelter, they’re easy to grab and take with us,”

Tommy thinks about putting his father’s watch inside his bundle, but

[alex slips up about his parents?]

[riding spitfire playing with the garden hose? they find an old boat and hide in it? happy]

[plane crash at breakfast, they think it’s a bomb and hide under the table]

It’s _ who finally looks out the window and realizes what’s happened. “A plane crashed

Collins starts for the door, but then stops himself. “We shouldn’t interfere. They’ll let us know,” he says. “If—“ Then he stops, and Tommy knows they’re all thinking the same thing. “They’ll let us know.”

It wasn’t Farrier. He sends word from the airfield, an hour or so after, and Collins breathes easier then.

Farrier comes home that night, while they’re having supper. “Lysander,” he says, looking pale and haunted/tired, not sitting down at the table but hanging by the sink and holding onto the counter. Tommy has picked up from Alex that a Lysander is what’s called a transport plane; not a fighter, but for carrying people, sometimes bombs, from one place to another. “The gas tank _.”

“God in Heaven.” Collins _. “Who was the pilot?”

Farrier’s face tightens. “No one you knew,” he says. “Doesn’t matter.”

Collins crosses the room in a few quick strides and puts a hand on Farrier’s arm. “It matters to you,” he murmurs. “So it matters to me.”

Tommy puts the dishes in the sink and darts out of the room, feeling suddenly as though he’s intruded on something private.

[something else??]

new boy

“He could be a German spy,” Alex whispers.

“Don’t be daft,”

[alex is like you can’t play with us]

[STUFFFFFFF montage]

[tommy gets better at riding spitfire, peter and george take them sailing just a little bit]

[movie?]

“Have you ever wanted to kiss a girl?” Alex whispers, later that night when they’re in their room. Tommy knows he’s thinking about the same thing, the part at the end of the movie where the hero sweeps the damsel up into his arms and kisses her.

Tommy still goes to church, even though Collins doesn’t. He lights candles every Sunday, one for his aunt, one for his _. His writing is much better now, so he writes a letter to Sister Margaret.

 _I am very happy here,_ he writes, and

[smth happens?]

[big fight, alex yells about his parents and collins goes along with it]

roll over and over in the dirt. Alex hits Tommy,

“I hate it here,” Alex screams. “I want to go home.”

gathers Alex into his arms. At first Alex tenses, as though he’s going to hit Collins too, but then he sags into him, crying dry and weary.

“My mum’s coming to get me, and then my dad will come home, and—“

“I know, I know,”

Tommy comes downstairs later. Collins is sitting in the living room, staring into the fire, one hand rubbing his forehead. “You lied,” Tommy accuses. “You know his parents are dead.”

“Sometimes you have to lie to help people. Just for a little while, to make them feel better.”

“It’s not going to help,”

“He’ll come to it in his own time,”

it’s like casting a spell. magically making things better, creating an illusion

tommy thinks about the book, and thinks he understands.

[CHRISTMAS!!!!!! THEY OPEN PRESENTS AND FARRIER COMES HOME FOR DINNER WITH OTHER PILOTS AND THEY DANCE TO THE RADIO AND FARRIER AND COLLINS TEACH THEM A DANCE AND THE TWO OF THEM DANCE TOGETHER HOLY SHIT]

[BUT THEN COLLINS GETS SAD???]

“Jim,” he says, sounding broken, and then pulls away.

[tommy thinks that they’re all like peter pan. their shadows can get away from them, but then they come back and get sewed on so they’re always following you.]

[bomb in the middle of the night]

[Tommy never knew what it was like to have a dad]

the Darkness howling all around the walls, while inside the shelter, Collins lights a candle and reads _ to them until they fall asleep.

[MORE STRESS BEFORE THE HAPPINESS OF THE BIRTHDAY]

[Tommy’s birthday??]

[bacon, butter, sugar ration, but they make a cake]

[there needs to be HAPPY FARRIER THING because this is the last time they see him, but it’s also kind of a throwaway thing like Sirius]

he can’t explain it, but he feels like he has to give Farrier something.

[he gives farrier his dad’s watch]

his heart sticks in his throat. he doesn’t want to do this. he does. he nods.

“Are you ever afraid?” “Flying?”

his face seems to clear. “The earth falls away, and there’s nothing but blue.”

“That sounds all right,” Tommy says.

_may-june 1940_

[Dunkirk week]

“No time for games now, boys,” Peter says, his face drawn. He and George continue to lay things out on the dock—books, a tea set—and carry armfuls of the orange stuff back onto the boat. “Go home.”

“But we can help,” Alex

Peter glances towards the Navy men, who are advancing along the dock. “All right,” he says, “But be quick about it.

Tommy is very careful not to drop anything

They quickly load the life vests onto the _Moonstone,_

push off, the Navy men watching.

“Your friends are right fools,” one of them says, shaking his head.

Tommy regards him calmly. “We’ll tell them that when they get back,” he says.

car pulls up outside their gate [OR NO one of the boys RIDES back to get Collins]

“The doctor and the nurses and all the women are there, but—“ “We need you.”

seems to shake himself awake. “Of course,” Collins says, and then he’s on his feet. “Of course, I’ll—“

[Collins leaves them at home BUT THEY RIDE SPITFIRE INTO TOWN]

There’s Mr. Dawson, and there’s Peter, but—

“Peter!” Alex shouts. “Where’s George?”

“George, he…” Peter bites his lip. “He died, Alex. On the way back.”

“What happened?”

“Not now, lads.” Mr. Dawson

Tommy pushes it open.

He’s never seen Alex look afraid, before now. “Listen.”

“They need us,” he says. “If you can’t bear it, you can take Spitfire home. But if you can, I’m here with you.”

[chaos and blood and helping get bandages and water and stuff]

“Will I live?”

Tommy remembers what Collins said. Sometimes you have to lie to help people.

“Yes,” he says.

“Read it back to me,” the soldier gasps. “Please.”

Something seems to break inside Alex. He shakes his head.

reading so carefully, sounding out each word as loud as he can so he can hear, that it’s only when Collins lays a hand on his shoulder and gently tugs the letter out of his hand that he realizes the shivering soldier has died.

[after Dunkirk week]

Farrier still hasn’t come back. An officer from the airfield came to the house one day, telling them that he was last sighted over Dunkirk beach, after having shot down a Messerschmitt. There was no reported crash, but no sign of a parachute, either.

Collins has taken to standing in the front yard at odd hours—early in the morning, at the turn of twilight—watching the sky as though he’s hoping he’ll recognize Farrier’s plane.

once Tommy saw his lips moving. _Come home, Farrier,_ he was whispering, _come home._

they’re sitting outside the shop eating _.

“The soldier you brought back…the one who died. Was he a hero?” Tommy asks.

Peter seems to be struggling with something, deep in himself. He takes a deep breath. “He was shell-shocked when we found him,” he says. “But when we were pulling more soldiers onto the boat, he overcame his fear when we needed him the most,” he says. “That is a brave thing to do. So if you ask me, I would say yes.”

Mr. Dawson nods.

“Georgie was a hero,” Alex says with certainty.

Peter looks down at him, and softly, lays a hand on his head, smoothing the curls back gently from his face. “Yes, Alex,” he says. “He was.”

they’ll invade by sea, their village will be one of the first taken. The children are to go back to London.

“If it’s not safe here, you should come to London too,” Tommy says. “You could sleep in my bed, at the orphanage. I can sleep on the floor, I won’t mind it.”

Collins’ face seems to cycle through a series of expressions. “Oh, Tommy, my brave boy. I wish I could go with you,” he says. “But I…I have to wait for Farrier to come home, do you understand? He’ll be tired, after flying all that way, and…it’ll be nice for him to come home and see that there’s supper and a fire waiting for him.”

“Then…will you write to us? When he does come home?”

“Aye, lad,” Collins says softly. “That I will.”

[they’re at the station]

“Do you think we’ll ever see them again? Do you think—” Alex _. “They’ll be all right?” / they’ll be all right, do you think we’ll all be together again?

Tommy takes a breath and feels it. The faint stirrings of magic, crackling inside his chest. He sets his chin, eyes forward. “Yes,” he says.

Alex nods wordlessly, just once, and Tommy knows he understands. Then Alex holds out his hand, and Tommy takes it, and they board the train together.


End file.
